Chapter 4.
We reach the apartment complex, running up the stairs to the 7th block, considering the lift is always broken. This time he wins, well I let him. Panting as we continue to walk past the beating rays of our neighbours apartments, the cliché cat lady and meth-lab workers, we reach the door. The crooked number 47 rusting as every second goes by. I give Toby the take out and beer to hold, and turn my bag around, fumbling for the key. I found It after digging through my entire bag, relieved that it didn't escape after the Joker's second capture, jamming in into the key slot I open the door.
"Okay, go put the food and the beer on the table." I say, instant my deed is done as Toby was out of my sight along the creaky hallway. I know he's here, because his boots were wet with snow and …blood. Well what can I say, he's a clean up man. The apartment was cold, so I decided to keep my coat on. I walked passed the 'barely used by me and Toby' sitting room towards the kitchen. Our apartment's small so we don't have a separate kitchen to dining room, we eat at the kitchen table together as a family, despite how dysfunctional our family is. Walking into the kitchen, I see our father. He'd actually cleaned up himself, must have been a big job, and was sitting on the table as if waiting for us.
In fact, the whole scene around me felt surreal. The kitchen wasn't littered with empty bottles of whiskey and used syringes. The floor wasn't covered in dirt or grime. Even the head-shaped hole in the wall (I'm guessing you could put two and two together and figure out how it occurred) was covered up, with one of the old quoted canvases we still kept from our old home. The canvas was bright pink and read out "There's nothing like staying at home for real comfort- Jane Austin". Oh Jane I thought you were more perspective than that.
The air was thickly scented with bleach even the Chinese couldn't distinguish it. My eyes rested on the table that happened to have a soccer styled birthday cake. It had a small boy-like icing figure who was blonde and white skin wearing soccer attire, kicking a black and white ball on a green pitch near a goal post. I guess it was supposed to represent the birthday boy himself. Underneath the soccer pitch, in red writing read out, "Happy Birthday, Toby." I look down at Toby who was setting out the table, his head was down as it always is when I was getting beaten or begging my father to stop. I stopped begging years ago mind you.
I walked up to Toby and asked if he wanted to get out off his coat, he did, so I helped him. Helping set the table, I go up to the the wooden cabinet that keeps clear glasses and set out three beside each sets of the plates and cutlery. I noticed the oven was turned on and something was inside it, the room smelt like Italian lasagna. Unbelievable it was to believe he cooked a meal for us. Once I helped my brother, I looked at the man sitting on the table. His greying brown hair covered in gel, rested in a formal manner away from his face, he was wearing a dark brown shirt and black trousers, trousers as if part of a three piece suit. His gaze was on Toby, as my brother pulled out a chair and remained seated. I did the same, watching as the monster turned from Toby to the take out. Finally his gaze rested on mine and I lowered my eyes as if not to pull a nerve. Once I was sure his gaze was else where I looked back up, just in time to allow a shiver down my spine as he began to speak.
He smiled, "Happy birthday, son." he spoke ruffling Toby's messy hair just alike his own, but his was greying and combed back.
"Thanks daddy." Toby said still looking down unsure of whether to look up.
"No problem, Did you have a nice day at school?" he asked softly.
"Yes daddy, I had a good day." he replied flinching so slightly as his hair was being smoothed down by him.
"That's great son." he smiles but this simple gesture is a tonne worse than him scolding or shouting at me, at least I knew what to do then.
"Here look," he says picking up a box and placing it on the table. It was wrapped up in dark blue decorative paper, with silver ribbons tied up at the top to form a huge silver bow.
"I got you two presents." He also pulls up a brown envelope and places it onto the table together with the box in front of Toby. It's clean and free from any creases or folds.
"Why don't you open up the box, eh?"
Pulling the box closer to him, my brother hesitantly looks at me. My father sees this, without looking at him I could see the fury in his eyes. I nod and smile encouragingly at my brother, who starts to unwrap the box. His eyes widened as he pulled out the latest Nerf model sniper, the Nerf Bolt Scar-365. The 'gun' was detailed with blue plastic accurately as if it was an actual sniper, you could tell it wasn't because of the infamous bold colours, dark blue, grey and orange. The package showed 6 luminous green darts that went along side it. you could tell it was one of the newest toy weapon the toy shop sold.
Toby placed his new present on the table and slowly sunk his hands back in his lap, "Thank you, daddy." he says again, this time looking into our father eyes.
"Anything for my boy." He pats Toby's head again, continuing to ignore the flinching.
"Here, one more to go. Why don't you take a peek at the other one." Obediently, my brother took the envelope on the table and peered into it. His eyes widened more than when he saw the toy gun. He continues to stare at whatever is inside of it, before our father spoke.
"That's five thousand dollars, son." He smiled devilishly." You can spend it on whatever you want, okay?"
Staring at the envelope, my brother dropped his gaze before looking me in the eye. Before returning it to my father's.
"Do you like the cake? I got one of my pals to do one for you." Taking out a knife from a knife set on the kitchen top behind him, he pulled the cake towards him, cutting out a slice and putting it onto my brother's plate.
"There you are son, take a bite yeah?" he smiled encouragingly.
"Why don't you wait after dinner? You don't want to ruin your appetite." I call out. Quickly, my dad turned his attention to me. His smile diminishes, into a look of pure hatred. His eyebrows creased together as he began to speak.
"Why you late?" he asks coldly, losing the smile he once had moments before.
"I went out to buy food, and your beer." I reply keeping my voice low without drawing any spite. He looks at the beer for a second, chewing on something before looking back at me.
"I'm was already making dinner, you little bitch." He screams, whilst slamming his fist down on the table. I saw Toby's behaviour shift to pure fright, I knew I just had seconds until our father loses it.
"Toby, take your presents and go to our room, please." I ask curtly.
"NO" he screamed again, causing shivers to run down my spine."You stay right there." he growled at my brother. He turned his gaze from Toby at me again.
"Talking' the big shots are ya'? Tryna' be the man of the house are you? ANSWER ME, YOU FUCKING CUNT!" He remainder seated but still gave he the cold hateful glare that was as familiar to me as long as I could remember.
"Stealing my money, and spending it on this crap!" he shouted before taking a swing out of the Chinese. The meal landed on the floor, decorating the bleach smelling tiles with chow mein and lamb stew. He pulled up the knife and dragged it through the six pack, grabbing a bottle and using the blade to open the cap. Whilst taking a swing of the beer, I reply back to him.
"I didn't steal your money I have a job at the art store, remember dad?" I say. Inwardly taking a step further away from the man, putting my hands in my pockets comfortingly.
"DON'T YOU DARE LIE TO ME !"
"I'm not dad! and if you'd think for a second to be sober enough or not high on smack all the time, YOU WOULD REMEMBER!" Never in my life have I ever shouted back at him. He's the one person I would never talk back to, or hit back. It was in this moment I realised, that I had fucked up.
Placing his beer on the kitchen top behind him, suddenly he flung the table over causing the cake to lay splat on the floor whilst the beer clashed with the hard floor. Broken glass was every where, Toby's present had smacked the floor and the money . He stood up with fury pushing the turned table away, violence radiating from his eyes.
Grabbing my little brother's hand, I drag him out of the kitchen before any harm could come to him. He quickly got the motion and ran to our bedroom locking it, before going under the covers of the duvet. I knew he would because that was the routine we were always bet on. I turned my gaze from the hall way to the man walking towards me from the kitchen counter, who's eyes darkened and never broke away from mine. Putting my hands into my mother's coat pockets, I knew what was to come so I prayed that the intro to the main act was shortened.
He came closer and closer to me, looking as if he was ready to punch me into another wall. I pull out both my hands from my mother's coats pocket unaware of the small packeted substance that fell from the grasp of the compartment. Slowly after realising my father's shocked face that then intensifies with the eerie calmness which was worse than his anger. I look down at what he was staring at. Shit. Grabbing my hair with one of his hands, he pinned me onto the wall. The sound of my own heart beating was all that I heard, before he growled into my ear.
"You don't steal from me? huh?" He slices a punch into my stomach, I hollow in pain.
"ANSWER ME!"
"It was just for the food, incase I didn't have enough." I manage to groan out.
"FUCKING LIAR, just like that slut of a mother of yours." He barred out, before a moments flash, he bombarded me with punches in the stomach and ribs. I felt empty, surely I should be used to this by now; but no the big man with the huge white beard made sure that every punch felt more painful than the last. I doubled over sinking onto the messy floor, the scent of bleach invading my airways, his feet lay directly in my line of sight.
Spluttering and coughing trying to kick some oxygen back into my lungs, I felt defeated. Just like every other time he beats me. I can't feel him hitting me anymore, so I look up to see if he stopped. As soon as my eyes met his, he grabs me by the hair and roughly throws me onto the other side of the room, making my head slam against the wall. I felt dizzy, white spots threatened to invade my vision. However my moment of bliss of not being thrown or hit or punched was short lived.
"You know, everybody says that you look like her. I don't see it. My wife, you mother… was pretty, a fine looker. You just look like a cheap dirty whore. You're one ugly looking' bitch, a Dumb." Kick.
"Ugly." Punch.
"Fucking bitch." Kick.
He received no begging, as I never gave him the satisfaction for it. Every kick or punch I earned was worse than the last. He aimed anywhere, a kick to the face a punch to the stomach, anywhere. The white dots threatened to make another appearance yet against they always do as I was pounded, battered like a piece of meat. The smell of something burning was the only thing that subsided the strong scent of my blood. He kicked me below my clavicle. The area where the Joker marked me, I screamed in pain at the contact, this being the first time I reacted to the wound. The next sensation I felt was him dragging me up by my hair, not as rough as the Joker's did but rough enough to make me groan, letting water trickle down my eyes. He looked at me with a sadistic smile curling on his lips. Hazel green eyes locked together with my very own.
"Such a fucking ugly cunt, bet you're not even mine." Those were the last few words before he aimed his fist at my face repeatedly. I was sure he fractured my nose, he did it again and again and again before we both heard the sound of his phone ringing. The sweet sound of Fool's Gold echoed in the room, making my father stop. Leaving me on the kitchen floor, stirring on broken glass and ruined cake. He's feet covered in clad black leather dress shoes just in front of my eyes, looking almost ready to aim for them. I looked at them anticipating his move as he dug out his phone from his trouser pockets.
"Uh yeah?...Alright I'll be there in ten." He finished the call only to put his phone back in his pocket. I could tell he was looking at me, contemplating what to do. He went back to the chair that he sat on moments before. It wasn't moved at all. He grabbed his leather coat, not before turning around to face the kitchen unit. I could tell the oven door opened because a waft of smoke filled up the air, choking as the hot steamed air slapped me across the face. He put something onto of the kitchen unit, taking his half empty bottle of beer and walked towards the hall way not before passing me and spitting on my broken body.
"Food's on the counter." Was the last thing he said before opening the door and leaving from it, slamming it loudly at his expense.
I stayed there, in my spot staring at the still turned on oven. The fire alarm never went off, most of the apartments in our complex were damaged, fuses burnt, appliances out of order. Nothing in this side of town was ever reliable to say without a doubt. I tired to move but I didn't want to, my chest, my neck, my legs, my face, my back ...just hurt. In the end I just resulted into staring at the open oven, burning my eyes with it's hot air leaving a small pool of tear drops below my face onto the floor. I felt the white spots invade my vision and dizziness take over, my eyes closed as I became unconscious.
I'll try and update more :)